Life in Fast Lane
by VictorianChik
Summary: Two-Part One Shot. Tony and Ziva act on their passions for each other, but their behavior soon escalates into danger-loving escapades that leads to accidentally stealing Gibbs' car. Warning: Spanking, lots of sex, and Ziva's butchering Americanisms. Read at your own peril.


Ziva turned around in the seat and looked over the passenger's seat. "Tony, there are two police cars now."

Tony said nothing, his hands fixed at the ten o'clock and two o'clock positions and his eyes straight ahead.

"You have to pull over," Ziva insisted. "You can't just keep driving and driving when the police are flashing their lights at you. Blue lights – American signal for pull over or we shoot."

Tony said nothing, the tightening of his lips the only indication that he had heard.

Ziva looked back again. "Tony, they don't look happy. Angry cops – they won't care that we work for NCIS. As soon as they hear my accent, they will think terrorist, and away I go."

"That's stereotyping. Cops know the difference between Israelis and . . . other people."

She glared at him. "Typical dumb American boy. Pull over or I will beat you senseless."

Tony leaned slightly away from her, but kept driving.

Ziva huffed and looked back. "Ah, three cop cars! We are in Gibbs' car, fleeing from Gibbs, being tracked by Abby and Tim, and now the police! Gibbs is going to kill you."

Sweat broke out on Tony's forehead, but he kept driving, his hand gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.

"Gibbs is going to do a lot more than smack you on the back of the head," Ziva said. "He is going to take you somewhere private and rim you out."

"It's 'ream,' Ziva. Ream me out. Rim me out means – oh, never mind."

"He will hand you your ass. Yes, take it off and hand it to you. He will tear you a new one. A whole new ass for you. Tony, the police are getting aggressive. We are going to be on that cop show. You and me – low-down criminals on the run."

"Stop yelling at me. I have to think."

"Thinking? Be careful. Can you drive and think at the same time?"

"I'm not stupid," Tony loosened his left hand to push at Ziva.

She shoved back, and for a few seconds they batted at each other.

Breathing heavy, they looked at each other.

"Gibbs will end you," Ziva said in a low voice. "You, my bad boy."

A second of intense quiet.

"We are bad now," Ziva said. "We are Bonnie and Clive, running from the law, living on the run."

"Bonnie and Clyde," Tony's eyes flickered to the road for second before returning to Ziva.

Her lips quirked into a smile. "My sexy Clyde."

Tony cast one last look at the road and then he leaned over, and they started kissing, Ziva with fiery passion and Tony like a man condemned.

Two weeks earlier

Ziva had always fascinated Tony. He brushed it off, claiming she was like an annoying sister, making fun of her accent and her lack of American culture and other petty, snide things that would hurt a more sensitive woman. Tony would have never said mean things to a more susceptible woman, but nothing ever seemed to faze Ziva.

But she was tough and pretty and smart and certainly not his sister.

The first time he fanaticized about her, he had been imagining a porn actress with big breasts and pouty lips. But before he could find his climax, the blond actress in his head had turned to Ziva. She wasn't naked in his head, but dressed in her usual long-sleeved shirt and dark pants. She didn't even strip in his fantasy; she smiled slightly and said, "Tony, Tony, always so slow and quiet. Not me – I am a screamer."

The pleasure he felt next was the hardest and longest he had had in months, maybe years. When he fell on his back, exhausted, he barely had time to think about what had just happened before he fell asleep.

The next day, he felt awkward and guilty. He went into work and hid behind his desk, burying himself in paperwork.

When Ziva came in, he ducked his head and tried not look suspicious.

"Morning," Ziva smiled at him and Tim.

"Morning," Tim called back cheerfully.

"Ugh," Tony grunted as way of introduction.

"Ah-ah," amusement leapt into Ziva's tone. "Someone had a fun time last night."

She sauntered over to Tony's desk. He refused to look at her.

"Evasive looks, red ears, tired face," Ziva noted. "Someone got the lucky, yes?"

"No, Ziva," Tony stared at his paperwork as if it were the most fascinating thing he had even seen before. "It's not 'got the lucky'. You say 'Someone got lucky'."

"So you did sleep with someone," Ziva kept teasing.

"No, I did not," Tony willed his ears not to turn so red.

"What is the problem? Are you afraid her father will come after you with the shotgun? That was such a disappointment to me – shotgun weddings have no shotguns in them, just a groom and a pregnant bride. Why are they not called 'pregnant weddings'? Or better yet 'weddings where everyone looks embarrassed'?"

Tim laughed. "I think the idea was that the father of the bride was pointing a shotgun at the groom so he had to marry the girl he knocked up."

"Ah," Ziva nodded, "well, I promise, if either of you have a shotgun wedding, I will show up with a shotgun. I like shotguns – they are quite loud."

"You like big guns?" Tim teased.

"I like everything big," she replied.

"Excuse me," Tony choked as he dashed out of the room. "Excuse me, boss," he said as he passed Gibbs.

Gibbs glanced over his shoulder at his senior agent and then back to Ziva and Tim. "What's with DiNozzo?"

"I think he has knocked-up a girl and fears a shotgun wedding," Ziva commented. "Though I understand his fear. Children take lots of attention and worry, and Tony lives in the present far too much. He is goffy."

"Goffy?" Gibbs almost smiled. "Do you mean 'goofy'?"

"I thought that was the silly dog on the Mickey Mouse cartoons."

"It is. Mickey, Minnie, Donald, Daisy, Pluto, and Goofy," Tim said. "Those are the main characters. My cousins were addicted to them growing up."

"Those cartoons make no sense," Ziva insisted. "Goofy and Pluto are both dogs, but one lives in a house by himself and the other belongs to Mickey. How can a mouse own a dog? And why is Donald always so crazy? He screams nonsense and jumps around – I thought he was having a seizure when I first saw him."

"You didn't watch cartoons as kid?" Tim asked.

"Of course, but I was upset then, too. And do not get me started on those Looney Tunes where gravity only works if the character looks down. In cartoon world, an annoying coyote can stand in mid-air for ten seconds, but once he looks down, he must fall!"

As Ziva moved to her desk in a huff, Gibbs looked at Tim.

"How did we get from shotgun wedding to cartoons?"

Tim shrugged in reply.

"Did Tony get a girl pregnant?"

"I don't think so. I think Ziva was just teasing him. And she really wants a shotgun."

Gibbs pointed a stern finger at Ziva. "No shogun for you."

She looked outraged for a second, but then she sat down sharply with a stream of angry Hebrew. Gibbs was not impressed and stood his ground, and eventually Ziva settled down to work.

They weren't on a case so most of the day was filled with paperwork.

Tony came back, but he seemed so awkward and nervous and jumpy that Gibbs grew frustrated. When Tony knocked over Gibbs' cup of pens for the third time, Gibbs ordered,

"All right enough. You're done. You obviously need more time to train yourself to be in control of your body. Go down to the pool and swim a hundred laps. Then you can come up and get back to work."

"By laps, you mean lengths, right?" Tony smiled warily. "Down would be one, and back would be two, and down three –"

"No, laps are down and back. A hundred laps is two hundred lengths. Get to it."

Tony grumbled but left anyway.

"Tony," Tim sat back down, shaking his head, "he's always got one thing on the brain. Until he has it, he's useless."

Ziva looked in the direction Tony had gone, but said nothing.

The Olympic-size pool was empty, but Tony changed into fitted trunks and grabbed a pair of goggles to start swimming the laps. He didn't mind swimming – he liked it actually, but the fact that Gibbs sent him down here like a teenager with ADD was galling.

Swimming was hard, and after ten laps, Tony drew up to the edge to rest. Wiping his face free of water, he put a hand on the cement edge of the pool . . . and felt a foot.

Yanking off his goggles, he looked up to see Ziva standing there. In a two-piece bathing suit with her flat stomach bared and her breasts outlined in the tight top.

"Z-Ziva?" Tony gasped. "Are – are you here to swim laps?"

She didn't reply. She dove in the water over him, splashing down and sending dozens of tiny bubbles swimming to the surface.

When she came back up, she held on the edge like he did, a foot from him. "Are you enjoying your swim?"

"Yes," he swallowed, trying to ignore how hard he had gotten so suddenly.

"Who were you with last night?" she asked bluntly.

"What? No one!"

"No one? Then you were by yourself? All alone?"

Tony didn't answer; he didn't understand how sexual implications made him so nervous. He was used to making other people nervous. Kate had been regularly shocked by everything he implied, but Ziva –

"You were fanaticizing about someone," she smiled. "You were touching yourself and imagining someone."

"No, I wasn't," Tony's voice was as weak and high as it had been as a teenager when he first denied pleasuring himself.

"Who was it?" Ziva's eyes were bright from the water. "Was it me? Is that why you were so jumpy around me?"

He bit his lip.

"Tony, Tony," Ziva shook her head the smallest bit. "So modest and worried. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were a flushing virgin."

"It's 'blushing'."

"What is the difference? Both are embarrassed by sex and desires of the body. You are nothing but a prim, little, old lady sitting in her house knitting doilies. You –"

She didn't get to finish. He lunged for her and crushed his mouth on hers. They went down underwater.

She came up choking. "You stupid American idiot."

"Sorry, sorry," Tony apologized in a rush. "I just thought –"

"We have to be in the shallow end to have sex," she pointed out. "We will swim to the other end. The winner gets to be on top."

She shoved off the edge and started swimming down to the shallow end. Tony was right behind her. For a moment, the pool room was filled with the sound of their splashing.

Neither reached the other end completely. As soon as Ziva's feet touched the bottom, she was on Tony, and he was kissing her like crazy. Ziva reached around him and dug her nails into his back, and Tony hissed in pain, but neither of them stopped.

A side door down the hall opened, and Ziva went still.

"Quick, we have to go somewhere private," Tony whispered.

"There is a closet there," Ziva pointed to a closed door between the two doors leading to the men and women's locker rooms.

Tony pushed himself up on the ledge in a swift motion. He reached down to take Ziva's hands and pulled her out of the water.

"Well done," she nodded in approval. "Either you are very strong or horniness makes you Superman."

Tony rolled his eyes but he rushed with her into the closet.

"Ugh, it's a janitor's closet," Ziva frowned. "Everything smells like ammonia. There is nowhere for you to hold me up on while I scratch your back and scream into your mouth."

"Jeez, Ziva," Tony felt his face grow warm.

"I told you I was a screamer," she shrugged.

She looked down and smiled evilly. "I see someone likes the dirty talk."

"Oh, shut up," Tony reached for her and they started kissing, grinding up against each other in the tight space.

When they finally got around to having sex in its traditional form – wet and naked in a supply closet surrounded by chemicals – the act was so exciting and dirty that Tony got lightheaded. Ziva propped herself up between the shelves and the wall, avoiding several mop handles, and she clamped herself down on Tony.

The sex was embarrassingly short, but Ziva kept smiling wickedly and Tony got hard again.

When they stumbled out of the closet twenty minutes later, Tony could barely walk and Ziva's eyes were half closed from exhaustion.

"Beautiful," she put her hand on the side of Tony's face. "My sweet Adonis. You give me the best pleasure of my life."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Tony tried to look smooth but his face was beet-red.

"I will tell Gibbs that you got your proper exercise," Ziva smirked. "We must get back to work."

The rest of the day was a bust. Tony sat at his desk, staring at his computer screen, replaying the closet all over again in his head. Sometimes it was quiet. Sometimes they had brilliant conversations. Tony couldn't remember if anything was actually said so he felt free to improvise in his head.

How could Ziva sit in the same room with him, working diligently, when they had been animals just minutes before?

Each time when Tony thought he had finally got a hold of himself, she would look his way and then shatter his peace by smiling or looking at him or, the worst, winking at him. Impossible for him to concentrate, impossible to focus, impossible to look away from her.

"All right, DeNozzo," Gibbs said out the blue, snapping Tony back to attention. "It's almost five, and you've been no good today. You want to tell me what's bothering you or do I send you to the shrink?"

"I'm fine," Tony looked back to his screen which had been untouched so long that the screen-saver came on. "This last case is just . . . giving me so much grief."

Gibbs' expression softened for a second. "I – I didn't know you cared that much about retired Naval officers getting assaulted."

"Yeah, it gets me every time," Tony lied. "Old people . . . getting beat up."

"Yes," Ziva nodded, "only young people should be beat up and only if they're very bad. We are not bad, are we? Not very."

Tony could feel sweat starting to roll down his back, but he kept his face blank.

Gibbs frowned but then said, "Okay, well, just get it together for tomorrow."

Over the Next Week

Every day, Ziva pretended nothing had happened until they were alone. Then she practically jumped on him, covering him in kisses and putting her hands everywhere. The worst was in the elevator, going down to see Ducky.

Two floors to go, and Ziva reached down in his pants. "I bet I can make you cum before this elevator stops."

Tony was shaking all over by the time the elevator started to slow, but he wasn't quite there yet so he slammed his fist on the emergency button. Then he kissed and panted against Ziva while she milked pleasure out of him.

Ducky kept calling from outside the elevator. "Is everything all right? Has the lift stopped? Should I call the repairman? I once got stuck in a lift in Bristol, going to a medical conference. Well, it wasn't exactly a conference – more like an assembly, but –"

Tony groaned into Ziva's neck as his body eased back to a bearable state of sensation.

When the elevators doors opened, Tony was soaked with sweat.

"Stupid elevator," Ziva told Ducky. "We felt trapped, and Tony is slightly claustrophobic. He hates tight spaces."

"Hate them," Tony ran a shaky hand through his hair.

"I have seen that affliction in many people," Ducky turned back to the table which looked odd without a body on it. "I once worked with a young gentleman who couldn't ride in elevators at all. His fear was being buried alive which many people would not like. One time he told me about a reoccurring dream he had involving being buried in a refrigerator with four other people. I told him that he wouldn't really be alone with four other people, but that scarcely calmed his fears."

The rest of the day Tony tried to ignore the fact that he and Ziva were hidden adrenaline junkies who liked flirting with danger.

Earlier That Morning

She left a text on his phone to meet early at the office before anyone else got there. He stuck in to find the office dim and empty, except for Ziva perched on Gibbs' desk.

She was fully clothed, but the way she had her knees wide open and her head thrown back brought him to full attention immediately.

"Are you crazy?" he hissed. "That's Gibbs' desk. He doesn't like anyone to get too close to it, much less on it."

"I know," Ziva's eyes sparkled with excitement as she tossed her car keys on the desk and raised one boot on the edge of the desk. "Could we be worse? If we got caught, what would he do to us?"

"Fire us?" Tony gulped as he came close to her.

"Or punish us. He could lock you in his basement and put me in a chastity belt. Or maybe the other way around. If I was locked in a basement, would you come rescue me?"

"Yes, and I would take you right in the middle of the basement," Tony wrapped his arms around Ziva.

They kissed. And then they might have had sex on Gibbs' desk, but Tony would never admit it, even as a thought. To desecrate the place where Gibbs did serious work and saved lives with something so shameful and tawdry and fun. Oh, the shame! The shame!

However, while having sex on the desk, they knocked the lamp off.

It shattered against the floor, breaking into pieces.

"Shit!" Tony turned around to survey the damage.

Footsteps sounded at the top of the stair. "Is someone down there?" Gibbs called.

Immediately they both ducked behind the desk, scrambling into their clothes.

"Shit! Shit!" Tony hissed.

"You can keep swearing," Ziva whispered, "or we can try to get out of here."

"The parking deck," Tony replied. "Meet me there and we'll go somewhere."

She kissed him quick and hard and then crawled away. She barely made it to her desk when Gibbs rounded the bend, gun drawn.

"Don't shoot!" Ziva exclaimed. "It's just me."

"What are you doing here so early?" Gibbs asked, lowering his gun.

"I couldn't sleep," Ziva leaned against her desk, trying not to look at Gibbs' desk where Tony peeked his head up to see. "I thought I'd get some paperwork done and then have coffee. Can I get you some coffee?"

"Sure," Gibbs set his gun on the desk, his fingers inches away from her keys.

Ziva blinked nervously as Gibbs took out his own keys and put them beside the gun, still watching her suspiciously.

"Um, yes, Gibbs, I seemed to have lost my own keys," Ziva bumped into her desk, spilling papers on the floor. "I can't find them. Can you help me find them? A ring of keys you know."

Gibb stepped towards her and Ziva said loudly, "Yes, keys are so important. They're all you need. In case, you have to make a sudden flee from the building."

Tony inched upwards and snatched up the keys on the desk as Ziva banged a drawer nervously.

"Oh, no keys in here," she fluttered her hands. "I'm such the ditz. Just like an American blond."

"I don't know what's gotten into you," Gibb turned back to his desk, just in time to see the far exit door close behind Tony.

She froze, but Gibbs grabbed his gun. "Intruder! Get down, Ziva."

"I'm sure that's the post office guy," she said in the same hysterical tone, but Gibb was running for the door.

"It's attack – call the FBI," he yelled as he disappeared out the exit door.

"Or maybe I'll just leave," Ziva ran to the elevator. She felt naked without her keys but she jogged to the parking lot. She barely made it out the door when a car screeched to a top in front of her.

Inside Tony motioned to her frantically. She swung in to the passenger seat and slammed the door; he stomped on the pedal and they squealed out there. In the side mirror, Ziva saw Gibbs running after them.

"Duck!" she shouted.

Tony crouched down in the seat and the car flew through the parking lot. They reached the exit, but Tony didn't even slow down. The car broke through the exit arm, splintering wood across the hood, and they pealed into the street.

"Oh! That was so close!" Tony nearly bounced in his seat. "You're the most dangerous girlfriend I've ever had. Seventeen-year-old me would think this is so hot!"

"Tony . . ." Ziva said slowly.

"Okay, okay, it's a little early to use the G word. But you're more than a friends-with-benefit thing. We work together so I know –"

"No," Ziva swallowed, "this isn't my car."

"What? But the lights flashed when I pushed the key button and I grabbed -" the color drained from Tony's face. "Oh, no."

"This is Gibbs' car. I threw you his keys by accident."

They drove a block in silence, both of them petrified.

"We go back," she finally spoke. "We explain everything."

"Everything?" Tony's voice was high and frantic. "Everything? Gibbs will skin us alive."

"What's your answer then? We keep riding forever? We live in this car?"

"No, no, wait," Tony ran a sweaty hand over his face. "He didn't see me – he thought I was an intruder. This car can be a stolen car. We drive it a few miles and then ditch it. The police will find it and return it to Gibbs. No crime."

"But our fingerprints and DNA are all over this car."

"So? We've ridden in this car before."

"Not in the driver's seat."

He thought another moment. "I got it! We ditch the car, and you stay with it. I take the bus back to the office, get your keys, bring your car here, and we pretend that you tracked the intruder here and I showed up to help you. The bad guy jumped out of the front seat and I jumped in to save the car. Gibbs is so grateful, he doesn't ask any questions."

"That will never work."

"Well, it's either that or we set it on fire and let him collect the insurance money."

"Aw," Ziva frowned, "he liked this car. You know, if you could have recognized this car, we wouldn't be here. Aren't boys supposed to know cars?"

"If you haven't come onto me on Gibbs' desk, we would be here," Tony retorted.

"You like having sex in public places."

"And you seduced me at the pool. I'm a victim of sexual harassment."

She snorted. "Like Gibbs is going to believe that."

They made a few more turns.

And then the blue siren lights came on behind them.

"Tony?" Ziva asked in high, breathless voice.

"Yeah?"

"Do think Gibbs believes in trackers for cars? Would he think it's important enough to buy one for his car?"

"He wouldn't have to," Tony's face fell. "NCIS proves them for all cars, free."

"Ah," Ziva nodded. "That would make us criminals indeed."

Presently

They came up for air from kissing, the blue lights behind them now coming from five different cops cars. Tony slowed down as one drove up beside him on the left.

The passenger window of the front cop car rolled down, and Gibbs leaned out with a blow horn.

" _Anthony Dinozzo, pull the car over before I have you arrested for treason."_

"Treason?" Ziva rolled down her window and leaned out. "Car stealing is not treason!" she yelled at Gibbs.

Gibbs lifted the horn back up. " _If you do not stop, Ziva will be deported. Stop now_."

Ziva looked at Tony.

"I'll go with you wherever you go," he said gallantly. "We can be fugitives without a county."

She considered, her pretty features caught in indecision. Finally, she straightened and announced, "I like America. We stay here."

Tony pulled the car over to the curb, slowing to a halt and turning off the engine. He lifted his hands up in surrender. "I'll wait for you on the other side."

"Of death?" Ziva's eyes grew big.

"Or of Gibbs' fury. Whichever is worse."

The police surrounded the car and roughly pulled them out. Tony found himself laying facedown over the hood of the car beside Ziva. Hands frisked him all over, and then his hands were pulled behind his.

"I don't know what's going on here, Anthony," Gibbs said, snapping cuffs around Tony's wrist, "but I intend to get to the bottom of this."


End file.
